


The Two Wolves

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Mind Control, POV Peter Hale, Post-Canon, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: It was the scent that sent his nostrils twitching followed by the shiver down Peter’s spine when he heard the softly rasping voice.Pack.In the Midwest.Peter equated pack with comfort and safety but that feeling was quickly replaced as his fight-or-flight response kicked in.  Surreptitiously he glanced around trying to discover who else was around because surely the pack’s sole human wouldn’t stray this far from the territory without protection.





	The Two Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> The hurt/comfort prompt for this outing was possession/mind control. This fic is rough on both Scott and Sheriff Stilinski so if that's potentially upsetting to you please do your blood pressure a favor and skip this story. 
> 
> If I need to change my tags please let me know. Otherwise I hope you enjoy prompt #22 on my bingo card.

It was the scent that sent his nostrils twitching followed by the shiver down Peter’s spine when he heard the softly rasping voice.

Pack.

In the Midwest.

Peter equated pack with comfort and safety but that feeling was quickly replaced as his fight-or-flight response kicked in. Surreptitiously he glanced around trying to discover who else was around because surely the pack’s sole human wouldn’t stray this far from the territory without protection.

Odd. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the vicinity.

Unless, of course, the other shifters were masking their scent.

His niece and nephew would have the genetic predisposition to use that skill but Cora was safely tucked away in El Calafate, Argentina, and Derek was in Huntersville, North Carolina; no, the irony of Derek living in a place with that name wasn’t lost on Peter.

Malia, well…the coyote in her might have affected her wolf heredity. Peter would ask her the next time she deigned to answer his call. 

What was Stiles Stilinski doing in Dubuque, Iowa, and where were the rest of his beloved gang?

Peter idly looked at a display featuring murder mysteries while eavesdropping on the conversation. 

An attractive woman with long, wavy brown hair was giving the human instructions. “You fill the cart with the returned books, then move throughout the stacks re-shelving them. Just pay attention to the Call Number on the binding. Do you have any questions, Mitch?”

_Mitch?_

“No, ma’am.” Mitch used a soft, respectful tone; these were not attributes Peter associated with Stiles Stilinski. What was going on?

Silently Peter bemoaned the errand that had put him in the path of his old, hmmm, what even would he call Stiles? Nemesis seemed too confining to explain the relationship. Pack adjacent? Pack mate? 

In any event he’d found himself at the library because he enjoyed the convenience of e-Readers but nothing could replace the sensation of holding a worn book in his hands, his fingers rubbing gently over cracked bindings, inhaling the dust-tinged fragrance of aging paper. The desire to seek out new books had driven him toward the public library and that’s how he found himself in his current predicament.

“I can help you check out over here, sir.” One of the angelic looking young ladies at the circulation desk invited Peter over.

Peter thought of the cart disappearing around the corner, pushed by a pushy human. “You know I think there’s something I need to look into in the non fiction section before I leave. Thank you, though.” Peter excused himself and trailed behind the cart meandering around the stacks.

Inhaling deeply, Peter allowed himself to revel in the olfactory delight that was Stiles Stilinski. He’d never shared with anyone how absolutely delicious the human smelled. His scent was an approximation of Tom Ford’s Neroli Portofino with its notes of Tunisian Neroli, Italian Bergamot, Sicilian Lemon, Winter Yellow, Mandarin, Orange Flower, and Lavender. 

The fragrance was perfection to Peter’s nose—and hadn’t he almost embarrassed himself by following a gentleman around to stay close to that very scent last year—but as wonderful as the man-made version was, it didn’t hold a candle to Stiles’s scent.

The style of Tom Ford’s scent was categorized as vibrant, sparkling and transportive and with its crisp citrus oils, surprising floral notes, and amber undertones it made a splashy yet substantive impression.

Just like Stiles.

So why was Stiles perpetuating the charade of polite Mitch working in a Midwestern town as a library page?

As the human disappeared between two shelving units, leaving his cart behind, Peter memorized the Call Number affixed to the binding on the next book on top of the stack and moved toward that area.

Setting his small stack down on some empty shelving, Peter surveyed the area. 

616.853. Epilepsy. 

Neurologic disorders held some fascination for Peter, probably due to the werewolf mind meld achieved by plunging claws into the back of a neck to transfer memories via the spinal cord. It was a delicate activity and Peter knew he exceled at using it but it was quite possible to wreak havoc on a body through the process.

“Huh, I’m shelving the book I just returned.” Stiles muttered softly. Even without his sensitive hearing Peter probably would’ve heard what the younger man said; Stiles and speaking softly was an unlikely combination.

Peter snorted at the thought as he heard the soft footfalls of Stiles’s approach. He turned and smiled. “Do you need me to move?” Peter gestured at the book in Stiles’s hand.

The boy, no that’s wasn’t right, the young man had large well made hands that cradled the book gently in his grasp. 

Peter observed for the spark of recognition the volatile human wouldn’t be able to hide.

Stiles stared back with a tentative smile but there was no recognition. In fact there was barely any spark. What _was_ going on here?

The silence stretched out and Peter realized the human had yet to answer his question.

Peter stepped to the side to give Stiles’s some room but the human continued to stare straight ahead. Now that Peter was out of his line of sight, Stiles seemed to stare into the distance. Blankly.

The light bulb moment hit Peter and he watched carefully.

Stiles blinked his eyes, at first slowly but then with more speed until it seemed as though he was fluttering his eyelids in Peter’s general vicinity.

Next the human added chewing on his lower lip to the repertoire as his white even top teeth sunk into the pink, full flesh of his lower lip and he worried at it. 

The fingers of Stiles’s right hand rubbed gently, back and forth, over the cover of the book cradled in the crook of his left arm.

Peter was pretty certain he was watching an Atypical Absence Seizure. Stiles had mentioned he was shelving the book he’d just returned, a book on epilepsy.

It didn’t take a genius, even though Peter considered himself to be one, to fit the pieces of this puzzle together: Stiles most likely suffered from some form of epilepsy.

After approximately thirty seconds, Stiles startled. The human refocused on Peter, frowning. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Is that a book on epilepsy by chance? I know someone who has absence seizures and I thought I should do some reading up on the topic.” Peter gestured to the book still cradled carefully in the palm of Stiles’s hand.

Distrust flashed in Stiles’s pretty brown eyes. They were such a fascinating shade. Honey? Bourbon? Peter wasn’t certain but he enjoyed staring at them.

The distrust was something Peter was accustomed to seeing on the young man’s face. Now they were getting somewhere.

Peter held his hands up, palms facing toward the other man, invoking the “who me, I’m harmless” gesture. Stiles’s focus shifted from Peter’s face to his wrist where a large faced Black Blizzard titanium wristwatch was displayed prominently. 

Tilting his wrist, Peter widened his eyes as he noticed the time. Lowering his hands he picked up his books and aimed a smile in Stiles’s general direction. “I’m afraid I have to be going. My name is Stone. I come to this branch often so maybe I’ll see you again. Bye.”

Stiles lifted the hand not holding the book and sketched a brief wave. The distrust had faded to something resembling puzzlement.

The human wasn’t the only party puzzled by the meeting.

The other man raked his hand impatiently through the right side of his hair and that’s when Peter spotted it.

Jagged scar tissue crisscrossed the right temple and snaked backward, disappearing somewhere behind the right ear, covered by tufts of dark hair.

A head injury. That most likely explained the possible absence seizures but it didn’t really explain Stiles’s lack of recognition when it came to Peter. Amnesia rarely happened as it was portrayed in the movies.

Peter never met a puzzle he could walk away from and this chance meeting with Stiles was no different.

-0-

The knock on the door didn’t startle Peter as he’d heard the approaching footsteps after the elevator dinged its arrival.

No one came to the apartment.

Eschewing the peephole, Peter opened the door but stayed to the side in case whoever his visitor was had ill intentions.

A leather-backed badge was thrust into Peter’s face. “FBI. I have some questions for you.”

Peter stepped back and waved…Rafael McCall into his living room.

The name was certainly no coincidence. Peter was suddenly quite pleased his paths had never crossed the elder McCall’s before.

“Do you have some identification I could see please?” Agent McCall had a polite smile on his face but he stared at Peter expectantly, waiting for his request to be fulfilled.

“Of course.” Peter went to the table next to the door where a bowl held his keys and wallet. His driver’s license was tucked into the see-through plastic flap and he just handed the whole thing over.

“Thank you,” Agent McCall looked at the ID in his hands, “Mr. Stone Hardy.”

He was rather proud of his alias. The first name was from the Latin Petra, meaning stone, and the last name being a synonym of his own name. 

Stiles would’ve recognized it immediately but Agent McCall glanced at the other cards to make sure the names matched—of course they did because Peter was meticulous—before handing the wallet back without other comments.

“May I ask what this is in regards to?” Peter kept his face bland.

“You recently did a search for someone who is currently under our protection. I needed to follow up and ascertain your interest.” Agent McCall had a face that easily transformed from professional to smirky. Peter wouldn’t have liked the other fellow even if he had been honest with Peter, which he hadn’t been according to the uptick in his heartbeat.

“I’m afraid I searched several people recently. My job here will conclude next month and I’ve been thinking of taking a vacation on the west coast. I was checking to see who I might be able to reconnect with if I do visit.” Peter made sure to maintain eye contact.

“Yes, well the person I’m asking about is twenty-two years old. I’m not sure what business you would have with someone that age.” Peter had been wrong, Agent McCall didn’t smirk. No, he sneered. Perhaps the younger McCall had picked up his judgmental tendencies from his father just as he had his slightly uneven jawline.

Peter’s eyebrows rose upward. “I believe you must be speaking of, what was his first name, something Stilinski. I mentioned to my niece I was thinking of swinging by her old haunts and she was curious about some classmates.”

“What’s your niece’s name?” Agent McCall crossed his arms. The defensive posture made Peter want to roll his eyes.

“Caitlin.” Peter figured every class had at least three such named girls although he knew the spellings varied. Catelynn. Kaitlyn. So on. So forth.

Some of the tension left Agent McCall’s body. Apparently Peter had offered up a good name.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Hardy.” The smile on Agent McCall’s face was a bit forced but he seemed to have no further argument with Peter.

“Not at all, Agent. It’s not every day I get a visit from the FBI. In fact this is a first.” Peter held his hand out and the other man took it, his handshake firm.

They said their goodbyes and Peter closed the door, securing the lock and deadbolt.

Peter had two other identities prepared should he need to flee his current one. The problem was he didn’t want to leave, at least not until he figured out what was going on with Stiles.

Scott’s father had made it sound like Stiles was perhaps in the witness protection program but it was the US Marshalls who ran that detail, not the FBI.

Peter had done a search on Stiles and hadn’t picked up anything except the young man hadn’t posted anything on his social media accounts in over a month. That right there had been a red flag as these Millennials, or Generation Z, or whatever they were called, seemed to be physically tied to their phones and Facebook.

He planned to keep his eyes and all of his other senses open to threat and he also had a go bag stashed beneath his bed.

For now Peter thought he’d like to visit the library.

-0-

Peter wandered up and down the fiction section, biding his time. Stiles was once again pushing a cart, re-shelving books, and he would eventually make his way to this area.

Reaching out, Peter picked up a book Cora had been telling him he would enjoy: _Game of Thrones._

It was all over the media, at least the HBO series, and Peter just hadn’t made the time to watch the show.

His preference was to watch the movie or televised version when possible before reading the source material since typically books were so much better than what came from them and he was left feeling disappointed. Cora assured him he should watch the series and by the time he’d caught up it would be safe to start in on the books.

Peter didn’t always trust Cora’s judgments but he figured in this he was safe.

The coveted scent filled Peter’s nostrils and he smiled.

“Oh, have you seen any of the HBO series?” The deep, mildly hoarse voice asked softly.

Peter looked up and smiled at the younger man. “My niece has been telling me I would enjoy it and I’d rather watch before I read. I’ve been thinking of putting it at the top of my binge watching list.”

Stiles returned Peter’s smile, looking more relaxed than the last time he’d seen him. “I was thinking the same although it’s not on Netflix and I don’t have HBO.” His nose scrunched up and Peter had to admit he found the mannerism adorable. 

“I’m sure the library has the DVD you could check out.” Peter offered up the suggestion even though he had a completely different suggestion in mind.

“Sure, I put my name on the waiting list but it’s going to be a while.” This time Stiles rolled his eyes. “I think I must not be very patient.”

“Quite understandable, at least according to my niece. Have you read the books?” Peter was loath to let Stiles out of his sight…and out of reach of range of his olfactory senses.

Stiles fidgeted and again Peter found it adorable. It was like he’d fallen into some sort of alternate reality where he could spend time with Stiles without earning his ire.

“I’m sure it sounds crazy but I think I like to watch things before I read them when possible. Books are so much better and if I read something first I just spend all of my time watching the movie, picking it apart.” Peter didn’t miss the way Stiles had said _I think I like_ ; it could’ve just been a turn of phrase but Peter thought there was more to it than that and it, or something similar, seemed to be a popular turn of phrase for him.

Peter felt his smile stretch across his face. “That’s not crazy, I do the same thing.”

“You know one of the reasons I’ve been drawn to _Game of Thrones_ are the direwolves in the series. There’s just something about wolves in general. I even did a little research and found a Cherokee legend about wolves…I’m boring you, aren’t I.” Stiles’s tone didn’t even rise at the end of his question; his shoulders drooped and he seemed dispirited.

“No, actually, I’d love to hear about this legend. I happen to have an interest in wolves as well.” Peter might’ve given an internal chortle when he said those words. 

It was fascinating to him that even though Stiles seemed to be suffering from some sort of memory loss, he still retained the same characteristics as before—enthusiasm, the thirst for knowledge and an undeniable interest in wolves.

Stiles smiled, his face lighting up. “Well according to the legend, an old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.”

The young man adopted a lower, gruffer voice. “A fight is going on inside me, he said to the boy. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside of you and inside every other person, too.”

Stiles paused to take a breath before resuming. “The grandson thought about it for a moment and then asked his grandfather, which wolf will win?” He changed his voice to mimic a younger child’s.

He returned to the deeper voice. “The old Cherokee simply replied, the one you feed.”

Peter felt like he’d been slapped in the face. It was as though the legend summed up his whole life and this young man had zeroed in on it and made it a point to share it with him.

Stiles stared at him expectantly and Peter forced a smile to his lips. “I’ve never heard that before but it’s stunning in its simplicity.”

The other man beamed at him. 

The woman from last time who had been instructing Stiles on his duties approached, breaking up the moment. “Excuse me for interrupting but Mitch, I wanted to remind you that you need to clock out in five minutes.” 

Stiles’s eyes widened as though in surprise. “I totally lost track of time, Mrs. Harrison. I’ll finish shelving these and then clock out.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Stone. See you tomorrow, Mitch.” The brunette excused herself.

“I, ah, better finish up. They get upset if you work extra.” Stiles seemed upset and his scent was muted by anxiety. “I’d rather stay and talk with you.”

“This is perhaps a bit forward of me, but could I buy you a cup of coffee? I could meet you across the street and we could continue our conversation.” Peter hadn’t planned on issuing an invitation today but he recognized an opportunity when it knocked.

Stiles chewed on his lip and watching his straight teeth nibble at the skin of his plump lip was sucking up all of Peter’s attention. As the silence stretched out, Peter wondered if Stiles was suffering another absence seizure.

“How about if you feel up to it, you meet me across the street? You don’t know me so I certainly won’t be offended if you don’t feel comfortable.” Peter put the book in his hands back on the shelf. “I think I’m going to wait to read the books.”

The other man nodded. “Thanks for the offer. I’d better finish up here.”

Peter left the area with another smile. The establishment across the street served an adequate vanilla latte so Peter’s time wouldn’t be wasted even if Stiles didn’t join him.

Checking out his other books, Peter locked them in his Jaguar XJ. The car looked pretty unassuming, even though the color was the pretentiously named Ammonite Gray Metallic. He didn’t think many people realized it was a Jaguar but it at least appeased Peter’s need to have a real automobile even though others were unaware. Substance over flash; it could be his motto.

Peter made his way to the counter and placed an order for two vanilla lattes; he asked that the other be prepared when his friend joined him. If Stiles wanted something else Peter would happily buy it for him but he thought getting Stiles to accept even one cup might require some schmoozing. He added a plate of scones to his order; Stiles had always tended toward the thin side and he was looking especially fragile these days so the extra calories wouldn’t come amiss. If Stiles didn’t want to help eat them, Peter was more than happy to consume the delicious pastries himself and his shifter metabolism allowed him to do so without packing on unsightly bulges to his waistline.

Peter settled at an empty table in the corner where he had a good view of the door. It wasn’t even five minutes during which Peter contentedly took sips of his beverage before the door opened and Stiles entered. 

The young man looked around, chewing again on his lip, seeming even more anxious than he had at the library when they parted. Peter raised his hand and called out, “Over here.”

A relieved smile broke over Stiles’s face and he quickly made his way to Peter’s table. The younger man cleared his throat while shuffling his feet. “Let me just order something and I’ll join you.” 

“I ordered you something but if you don’t care for vanilla latte, I’d be happy to get you something else. “ Peter spoke softly and slowly, not wanting to spook Stiles.

“Oh, no, I can get my own.” Stiles was practically wringing his hands.

Peter’s smile threatened to burst his cheekbones and he tried to rein it in but it was difficult with Stiles standing there, looking so tentative. “You’re certainly free to do so but I did ask you out and I guess I’m a bit of a traditionalist in that I’d like to pay for my date.”

“This is a date?” Stiles’s tone was incredulous and his eyebrows shot up high on his forehead.

“Not if it makes you uncomfortable but I would certainly enjoy that. I’ve enjoyed the few times we’ve spoken and I’d like to get to know you better.” Peter’s nose picked up waning hints of anxiety and waxing curiosity. 

Stiles pulled out the chair across from Peter and settled into it. “Thank you. I think I’d like that.”

Peter made eye contact with the girl at the counter and she was already putting a lid on another drink. She dropped it off at their table and Peter murmured his thanks. He’d be sure to leave a large tip for her thoughtfulness.

He motioned to the plate. “Please, help yourself. They do a mean scone here.”

After taking a small sip of the latte, Stiles’s body language relaxed, his long limbs no longer tensed up as though on high alert.

“So tell me something about yourself, Mitch. I know you work at the library, you like to read books after watching a show based on them, you seem to like vanilla lattes and your first name is Mitch.” Peter was working had to put Stiles at ease but he was trying hard not to show the effort. Someone who was relaxed was more likely to share information and it bothered Peter to see Stiles so on edge.

Peter used to live for putting others, especially Stiles, on edge. How times had changed. He wondered if that was a function of his boredom, concern for his safety or actual concern for the younger man’s wellbeing. They had somewhat bonded through the whole Ghostriders debacle so maybe that was it. 

Stiles looked unaccountably sad when Peter focused on him again. Melancholy and uncomfortable. His scent confirmed it.

“Hey, it’s okay. This isn’t a test. Just talk about what you want and ignore anything else.” Peter took a sip of his drink, attempting to ease the tension.

Stiles’s shoulders moved from their hunched position, from somewhere just beneath his ears, to where one would normally expect them to be. “This is going to sound weird but I ah, think I might know you.”

“Why is that weird? Perhaps it’s deja vu.” Peter suggested, trying to calm Stiles’s suddenly accelerating heart rate. As soon as he was able to address one source of stress, another seemed to crop up. Stiles had always worn an invisible mantle of anxiety but this was out of the range of normal for the human.

Peter wanted to tell Stiles they did know one another but either this was some sort of elaborate ruse or the young man really couldn’t remember. If it was the latter, Peter didn’t want to shock the fragile human with the truth.

Stiles rubbed his palms across the tops of his thighs; Peter couldn’t see the nervous tell but he could hear the rustle of skin over denim. “I think before this goes any further, there’s something I should tell you. I was in an accident,” he gestured to the side of his head where Peter’s sharp vision could see the red, puckered scarring, “and there are some holes in my memory.”

Peter didn’t detect any dissimulation in either Stiles’s heart rate or his mannerisms. The human at least thought he was telling the truth. “I’m very sorry to hear that. It must be very stressful for you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so? When I try to think of my past I either end up exhausted or with a migraine so I pretty much don’t even try any more. I have vague memories of being with my parents but that’s about it.” The internal warning system Peter relied upon started going off at Stiles’s explanation; it seemed more and more likely someone had tampered with Stiles’s memories. 

Peter reached across the table and squeezed Stiles’s wrist lightly, trying not to jostle the drink he now clutched in his hand. “If you ever decide you want explore your memories please let me know. I’ve learned some techniques in my travels that utilize a type of hypnosis that might be useful to you should you choose to explore that avenue.”

Hypnosis…plunging claws into the nervous system…it was minor details as far as Peter was concerned.

Stiles tilted his head in thought. “You know, I just might be interested in that. In the mean time, I’d like to know more about you, Stone. What’s a good looking, suave man like yourself doing in Dubuque besides contemplating binge watching _Game of Thrones_?”

Peter settled in his chair and launched into an anecdote about stopping in the Midwest on his travels.

He’d laid the groundwork and now he needed to see if it came to fruition.

-0-

After three more coffee shop dates over the following week, and a trip to the independent movie house that sold passable wine and excellent coffee in addition to showing an indie film, Peter had invited Stiles to his apartment. It was ostensibly to view HBO but he of course had other plans should the other man be agreeable. 

Peter couldn’t concentrate when Stiles’s scent filled his nostrils and he thought if they had sex, it would ease the other man’s impact on him.  
Even if it didn’t there was something to be said for sex for sex’s sake and Stiles had been putting out notes of arousal in his scent since the first coffee date. Interest for either party didn’t seem to be an issue.

The younger man also put off the strong scent of desolation when he wasn’t aware Peter was in the area. It was invigorating how his mere presence seemed to lift Stiles’s spirits.

They were two lonely souls made a little less lonely when they were together.

Cora would give him untold amounts of crap if Peter shared these thoughts with her. 

Stiles was a very tactile person and as soon as Peter opened his door, the other man entered, looked around and started moving around the space. He reached toward many knickknacks Peter had strewn throughout the living room but he always pulled his hands back, licking his lips nervously.

“You’re welcome to touch anything,” Peter gestured to himself, “in the apartment.” His flirting was lost on the other man who turned his back to Peter, making a beeline to a photo cube sitting on a side table. It had arrived from Cora just yesterday and Peter didn’t plan to display it but he hadn’t gotten around to moving it to his bedroom yet. 

Pack, and family, ties still meant something to him.

“That’s my niece.” Peter explained when Stiles stared down at the cube. He wanted to make sure the other man understood that this wasn’t someone Peter was romantically involved with but he didn’t say her name in case that sparked a memory.

With a sudden gasp, Stiles clutched his head with both hands and staggered backward. He was on course to hit the coffee table and Peter sped across the distance, catching Stiles as the back of his legs met the unforgiving edge of the table and he began to tip backward. 

Peter cradled Stiles’s upper body against his chest, aware that he was holding all of the other man’s weight. “Easy now.”

Stiles’s breathing was fast and labored, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. 

It was an easy matter to swing Stiles into his arms, fully cradling him to Peter’s chest. Stiles buried his face against the side of Peter’s neck and Peter’s wolf took notice and approved.

The couch or the bed? Peter determined Stiles’s comfort was more important than his modesty and opted for his bedroom. As soon as Peter had settled Stiles on the comfortable surface, he stood up, intent on retrieving some water.

Stiles stilled his movements with his hand. “Please, don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone.” The hoarse voice impacted Peter’s senses every time Stiles spoke but this time the soft, breathy delivery undid Peter’s resolve.

The younger man didn’t want to be alone and Peter couldn’t resist him.

Peter sank down next to Stiles and touched the side of his face, fingers next to the scarring near his temple. He let his touch pull the distress from Stiles and he was surprised at the depth of pain. 

Stiles groaned and leaned into Peter’s touch.

Peter told his body to settle down, to ignore the soft breathy sighs and good smells assaulting his senses, and if it wasn’t for the pain he felt he feared his body would’ve ignored him. As it was the pain-drain made him feel a bit woozy. When Stiles pulled on his arm Peter went with it and stretched out next to the warm body.

His wolf turned around in a metaphorical circle and settled.

He drifted off to sleep, cuddling the human close.

-0-

Peter moved from sleep to consciousness in a blink of an eye. His wolf was always vigilant.

This time it wasn’t danger that caused his wolf to alert him, it was the fact Stiles was stirring.

The other man had thrown a leg over Peter’s, his head nestled against Peter’s shoulder and beneath his chin. The fine hairs tickled Peter’s skin but he could inhale and enjoy the heady mix of Neroli, Bergamot, Lemon, Mandarin, Orange Flower, and Lavender to his heart’s content.

Stiles stretched, arching his back like a cat, and Peter wanted to gather him closer and hug him to his chest.

Peter had never been a hugger. He was going to blame Stiles’s scent for his thoughts and ignore how cute and endearing he found the human.

“Did I imagine that?” Stiles’s voice was made huskier by sleep and Peter ordered his libido to stand down.

“Imagine what?” Peter let his hand splay over Stiles’s back and rub up and down.

“The black lines going up your hand...did you draw my pain out?” Stiles tipped his head back and stared up at Peter through bleary eyes.

Ignoring the urge to kiss the tip of Stiles’s nose—when had Peter turned into such a sap?—Peter continued to rub Stiles’s back while he pondered how to answer the question.

“Wait, I think I recognized the girl in the picture. Your niece. Do I know you?” Stiles tensed his arms.

Apparently the time for comforting was over and it was time for the Q&A session. “Yes.”

Stiles rubbed a fist against his eye before rolling off of Peter. He instantly missed the warmth against his side. “Will you tell me what you know?”

This was the opportunity Peter had been waiting for. He had wanted answers after all but what if he did irreparable damage to Stiles in his bid for them? 

“Maybe we ought to move this to the living room.” Peter gathered his thoughts and rolled off of the bed. He held his hand out and Stiles hesitated but then accepted it.

Once they were both settled on the couch, Peter started with the thing that bothered him most—hearing Stiles call him by his fake name. “My name isn’t Stone, it’s Peter.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “That’s good. Stone Hardy sounds like a soap opera name. I like Peter better.”

“Well I know you as Stiles, not Mitch.” Peter shared, waiting to see if Stiles’s migraine flared back to life.

The other man sounded out ‘Stiles’ without any sound. “Is that even a name?”

“It’s a nickname. I assumed it’s a derivative of your last name—Stilinksi.” This time the other man flinched. He rubbed his temples and squinted at Peter.

“Did I imagine that you helped my pain before? I could maybe use some help again if you can. Please?” Stiles’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was tight with pain again.

“Give me your hand.” Stiles put his long fingered hand in Peter’s hand and instantly Peter felt the flare of discomfort in the other man. 

“That is so cool. I feel like I’ve seen this before though. How are you doing this?” Some of the signs of weariness fled Stiles’s countenance as Peter saw to his comfort.

Peter didn’t think Stiles’s system was up to the shock of finding out, make that finding out again, about shifters. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“Seeing as you’re moving the pain from my body to yours, and I can see it, I’m not sure about that. Wait, is this hurting you? I don’t want you to hurt!” Stiles blurted out, pulling his hand back.

Had anyone ever said something so sweet to Peter? Thought of his comfort before their own? Maybe Cora as a child. Peter certainly couldn’t remember it.

His wolf was pawing, wanting Peter to do something, like claim Stiles.

The need to get information didn’t seem as pressing. Keeping Stiles comfortable, and safe, was his wolf’s prime directive. Who was Peter kidding? His human side felt the same.

“It stings a little but it doesn’t hurt me like you feel pain.” Peter didn’t want Stiles worrying about this point.

“You’re not human, are you? At least not 100%. Am I right?” This was the curious Stiles he had been accustomed to being around.

Peter took a deep breath. “You’re right. What do you know about werewolves?”

Stiles jolted on the couch, wincing. The pain pulsed harder and more quickly than Peter could keep up. “I think I’m not as surprised as I should be?”

It was time to explore the root of the matter, whether Peter was ready for it or not. “Do you remember when I said there was a way I might be able to help you with your memories?”

“I, ah, yes. Something about hypnosis.” Stiles’s skin was pale to a degree that was worrisome. Overloading his body was becoming a viable concern.

Peter licked his lips; he wasn’t one to show his nerves but he didn’t want to blow this, whatever he had going with Stiles. “Listen, there are some things you need to know. I’ll tell you what I can and then I want you to think about things, see if you still want to regain your memory.” 

Stiles nodded his head in agreement, remaining quiet.

“I think someone has done something to your memory and I’m worried something might happen to you if we try to fix it but ultimately that’s your decision.” That was the most important point of consideration to Peter; he wanted Stiles to be aware there was some danger here and Peter didn’t have all of the answers.

“What else can you tell me?” Stiles narrowed his eyes. It was a look Peter had noted when Stiles was in deep concentration.

What did Peter know? “You are, or at least were, a part of a pack in Northern California. Your best friend was the alpha. I think your father knew about the things that go bump in the night, too.”

“I have a father?” Stiles sat straight up. “What about my mother?”

“I think she passed away when you were a child.” Peter vaguely remembered the sheriff’s wife, a pretty brunette who usually had a pint sized male version of her trailing around after her. 

“So where is my dad? Or my best friend? I was so alone until I met you. Where are they?” Stiles’s anxiety was on the rise.

Peter drew Stiles into his arms. “I don’t know. I didn’t find anything online that would indicate they’re no longer there. Not only that but after I poked around, your friend’s father, an FBI agent, paid me a visit. I think he’s keeping an eye on you.”

“But I didn’t know that. I thought I didn’t have family, or friends, that I was completely alone. Why did they abandon me?” Stiles buried his face against Peter’s chest and his voice was muffled.

“I’m not sure. They might have a valid reason. I just wanted you to be aware that there might be some repercussions if we start poking around in your holey memory.” Peter cradled the back of Stiles’s head in his hand.

He could address the physical pain but mental anguish was something different.

Peter didn’t know where this all was going but he hoped Stiles would allow him to be a part of his life when this was over. That wasn’t a given seeing as Stiles had not been a fan of Peter’s, had actually helped kill him, and previously had made no secret of the fact he didn’t trust Peter. All with good reason but still…Peter would mourn the loss of Stiles if something happened.

Information was power but what good would that power do if Peter was back to being an outcast again?

-0-

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through? You want me to free your memories if I’m able?” Peter ushered Stiles into his apartment. It had been two days since the big reveal about werewolves and Stiles belonging to a pack and Peter had missed the human.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not sure this is the right decision but not knowing why I was sent to the Midwest, away from everyone, feels like I’m in exile. I guess I need to know why I’m here.”

Peter pulled out a chair from the dining room table. “This is going to sound surreal but I’m going to access your memories through your nervous system. In particular, your spinal cord.”

“I don’t understand. How can you tap into my—”

Stiles stopped speaking as Peter shifted his hand into a claw.

“That is so cool.” Stiles’s tone was filled with quiet reverence. “What else can you do?”

Peter’s eyebrows rose up on his forehead. Stiles never ceased to amaze him. He wasn’t anxious or fearful. The strong scent of curiosity almost over powered Peter.

Stiles frowned. His scent turned doleful. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re doing parlor tricks. Just ignore me.”

“Not at all. It’s just most humans don’t take this all in stride.” Peter stared thoughtfully at Stiles. “I don’t want to ignore you. I just don’t want to alarm you.”

“It’s just a hunch but if it’s any consolation I don’t think I’m like most humans.” Stiles shrugged self-consciously.

Peter smiled; Stiles had always been different. It had been most apparent when Peter had offered to turn Stiles, Stiles had declined, and Peter hadn’t forced the issue. Theirs had been an untraditional relationship from the start. “How very true. Why don’t we go ahead and I’ll check for your memories now and I can show you more of my shift later? That’s if you trust me.” 

“I trust you more than anyone else at the moment. Let’s do this.” Stiles settled in the chair.

A lecture about giving someone too much trust was on the tip of Peter’s tongue but he held it back. 

Peter forced his tensed neck muscles to relax. He needed a soft touch to access Stiles’s memories without doing damage to the more delicate human’s system.

His claws elongated on his right hand as he set his left hand on Stiles’s left shoulder. “Take a deep breath for me. Good. Now let it out.”

As Stiles was busy concentrating on his breathing, Peter slid his claws into the back of the long, fragile seeming neck. Stiles’s head bowed forward and he hissed in pain.

Peter concentrated as he tapped into Stiles’s spinal cord. Right there.

Nothing.

A pulse of energy, generated from inside of Stiles, made Peter flinch but he didn’t retract his touch. 

Ozone scented the air.

_Magic._

Now he was getting somewhere. He detected the work of a druid. 

What Peter didn’t understand was with Stiles’s history of possession by the nogitsune, why someone would use what amounted to mind control on the younger man via some sort of magical amnesia. It seemed a cruel and unusual punishment.

Despite the pressure pushing against him, Peter gathered his fortitude and met the resistance with some of his own.

The tension popped like ears adjusting to a pressurized cabin on an airplane.

Memories. 

Finally.

_How is he, Mom?_

The not so dulcet tones of Scott McCall, True Alpha.

Barf.

Usually images were connected with sounds but this time Peter only received audio input.

_We need to wait until he wakes up but he’s had three seizures since he was brought in here. A Traumatic Brain Injury is nothing to screw around with so you need to brace yourself, honey, because he might have residual effects.”_

The divine Melissa McCall. Audio without visual.

Stiles had to be conscious but his eyes must not have been open.

_So you’re telling me my son met up with something, something supernatural, in the preserve that threw him into a tree and he now has epilepsy? I thought keeping Stiles off of drugs, or not crashing his Jeep, were going to be the most difficult obstacles he’d face. How can I keep him safe from that?_

Stiles trembled beneath Peter’s touch and he massaged the younger man’s shoulder with his free hand. The gruff, anguished male had to have been the good sheriff. Stiles’s father.

_You do realize your consigning Stiles to a lonely path? If I remove his memories he will no longer have a support system._

Peter rolled his eyes. Deaton’s pedantic tone always rubbed him wrong. He’d guessed a druid had played a part in Stiles’s memory loss but for some reason Peter had thought it was someone out to cause McCall’s pack harm. Although with Deaton, that was still a possibility.

_I want him safe. Whatever it takes. Once we get things squared away, you can undo this memory thing right? ___

__A blurry image of a man in a khaki uniform swam into view._ _

__Stiles was awake and staring at Sheriff Stilinski._ _

_No, please, don’t do this. I don’t want to forget. Don’t send me away!_

__Peter was actually grateful he couldn’t see Stiles; his voice was slurred and he sounded broken. From the little Peter knew about the younger man’s history, and from what he’d witnessed firsthand, Stiles was fiercely loyal and dedicated to those in his inner circle and sending him away would pretty much destroy him._ _

_Stiles, my dad will look out for you. We just want to keep you safe. You almost died._

__Scott McCall, wide jaws clenched, frowned while staring down, eyes pleading for understanding._ _

_If you really want to keep him safe it would be best if I plant a suggestion so that when Stiles snoops around about his past he becomes incapacitated._

__Deaton scratched his chin thoughtfully, his fingers creating a soft scritching noise as they rubbed against the bristly hair of his goatee._ _

_No!_

__Peter’s connection snapped free and the force propelled him backward._ _

__Stiles tilted forward, slumping on to the carpet. Peter was too far away to slow his descent and cringed when Stiles’s head connected with the carpeted yet still less than forgiving surface._ _

__Rushing forward, Peter kneeled next to Stiles’s body. The young man’s right cheek was smashed into the light gray carpet, his skin tone matching the uninspired shade of material beneath him, his waist twisted with limbs akimbo._ _

__“Stiles, can you hear me?” Peter realized he’d called the human by his nickname instead of fake name he’d been assigned._ _

__Stiles cracked his visible eye open and blinked it slowly. When Stiles pulled his right arm into his body, tucked it beneath him and rolled over onto his back, Peter wanted to help but was afraid he’d only hurt the human._ _

__“Hurt-sss.” Stiles wheezed out the word, somehow turning the monosyllabic word into a disyllabic._ _

__“I know. Can I move you from the floor?” Peter wanted to just pick Stiles up, drain off his pain and comfort him but he was very aware the human’s agency had been stripped from him by his loved ones and he wasn’t going to exacerbate that by doing anything without Stiles’s full consent._ _

__Stiles lifted his arms up and Peter took that for non-verbal assent and that was enough. Oh so carefully Peter threaded an arm behind Stiles’s back and levered him up to a seated position. His other arm slid beneath Stiles’s bent knees. When Peter pushed to his feet, precious cargo cradled in his arms, Stiles looped his arms around Peter’s neck and pressed his face into the side of Peter’s neck._ _

__Wolves didn’t like others nuzzling at their necks unless it was done by trusted family or pack but Peter didn’t mind Stiles’s actions in the least. In fact his wolf reveled in the closeness, content to hold his human close and protect him._ _

___Trusted family._ _ _

___His human._ _ _

__Peter loved Stiles. The revelation rocked his world but Peter had to set it aside. He needed to attend to Stiles first and foremost._ _

__Peter moved into the bedroom and settled Stiles carefully atop the navy duvet. The dark color sharply contrasted with the human’s pale skin tone and Peter worried Stiles needed professional medical attention._ _

__“Please, don’t leave me.” Peter couldn’t ignore the plea in Stiles’s tone. How on earth had his father given permission to let Deaton wipe Stiles’s memories after hearing Stiles plead not to be sent away?_ _

__“All right. Is it okay if I take some of your pain?” Peter would do anything to ease Stiles’s distress._ _

__Stiles shifted over on the bed. “Lay with me?”_ _

__Again, Peter couldn’t deny Stiles’s request. He eased on to the surface so as not to cause Stiles any pain by jostling him and then propped up his head with one bent arm while he cupped Stiles’s cheek with the other._ _

__The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as Peter had feared. He wasn’t certain if that was a good thing or not._ _

__Peter wanted to ask if Stiles had recovered his memories but he didn’t want to put undue stress on the younger man’s system._ _

__Stiles leaned into Peter’s touch._ _

__Peter’s wolf preened._ _

__Without prompting, Stiles’s lips parted. “I remember everything.” The words were whispered._ _

__Gathering the supine body closer to his own, Peter gently petted the silky strands, lending comfort through touch and his own body heat._ _

__“I wish,” Stiles swallowed convulsively and Peter smelled the tears before he felt them drop against his own skin. “I wish I didn’t.”_ _

__Peter didn’t try to hush Stiles or placate him with platitudes. He had always been a fixer although Talia had eventually attributed his actions, like arranging for Derek’s girlfriend Page to receive the bite, to evil machinations and Peter had fallen into the habit of believing her. This, doing nothing, went against his grain._ _

__He vowed to stand vigil until Stiles could share his wishes with Peter._ _

__-0-_ _

__“What do you want to do?” Peter handed Stiles a cup of coffee with extra sugar; the sugar should help address the shock to the human’s system._ _

__It was pitiful little but at least it felt like Peter was doing something._ _

__“It will take too long to tell you everything but there was a showdown at the Nemeton and I was hurt. I guess the plan was for Deaton to take my memories and send me somewhere until the threat was neutralized and it was safe for me to come home.” Stiles delivered this information in a monotone. It was difficult seeing the young man devoid of his passion for life. Even his anxiety level was non-existent._ _

__“I want to hear it from them, why they did this to me.” Stiles gestured to the iMac on Peter’s coffee table. “Can I use this?”_ _

__“Of course.” Peter scooted it closer to Stiles._ _

__Stiles typed information in and then sat back, chewing the cuticles of an index finger._ _

__Peter thought of the Cherokee legend Stiles had shared with him. Which wolf would he feed?_ _

__The answer was simple, really: Whichever wolf Stiles needed._ _

__“Stiles, I’m not saying this because I think what they did was right but I would just like to point out something.” Peter waited, patiently, until Stiles tipped his chin up and made eye contact._ _

__Stiles, eyes beautiful despite being blood shot and watery, nodded his assent. The gesture was weary and Peter wanted to wrap him up and shelter him from this betrayal._ _

__“However misguided they might have been, your pack did what they did out of love. They tried to protect you. Keep you safe. It’s difficult for me to completely fault them for that although I would’ve taken a different tack.” Peter swallowed and his throat was tight. “No one, not even when I was a child, loved me enough to have gone to such lengths to keep me safe. Do you understand what I’m saying?”_ _

__The smell of tears preceded the visible tracks streaking slowly down the sides of Stiles’s face._ _

__“You are such a gift, Stiles. Whatever you decide, please know I’ll support you.” Peter wrapped the quivering body into his arms. Strong emotions could trigger a seizure but there wasn’t anything to be done about it except be there for Stiles._ _

__When at last the storm of emotion had passed, Stiles nuzzled his damp face into the side of Peter’s neck, right next to his ear. “I love you. I would do anything to keep you safe. Anything except make you believe you were alone in the world.” The words were whisper soft but they made a huge impact on Peter’s heart._ _

__On his very soul._ _

__Peter loved this human._ _

__Easing back, Peter realized Stiles’s attention was neither on him or looking at something across the room. Perhaps this was another absence seizure._ _

__Peter gathered Stiles back into his arms and waited for the human to stir on his own._ _

__Stiles sighed and leaned backward._ _

__The Skype app on the iMac signaled an incoming call. They both turned to look at it._ _

__Scott McCall._ _

__“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Peter’s finger hovered over the options on the screen._ _

__Stiles took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”_ _

__“Do you want me to give you some privacy?”_ _

__“No, please, stay with me.”_ _

__“Always.”_ _

__Peter selected the Answer with Video option. Scott McCall and Stiles’s father appeared on the screen._ _

__“Stiles, son, I’m sorry. I just wanted you safe. Can you understand that?” Sheriff Stilinski’s eyes were a watery blue and his face was blotched with pink; apparently the Stilinski men weren’t afraid to wear their emotions on their sleeves for everyone to see._ _

__Stiles shrugged, motion listless. “I was alone. Until I met Peter.”_ _

__Scott joined the conversation, jaw clenched in determination. “We always knew where you were, my dad was keeping an eye on you.” Peter couldn’t help but notice how Scott ignored the inclusion of Peter in Stiles’s world._ _

__A sigh escaped Stiles’s lips and both men facing the camera flinched. His poor love had an air of defeat about him and Peter was certain neither Stilinski nor McCall had ever witnessed such a lack of energy in Stiles before. It was the antithesis of vibrant._ _

__Stiles shook his head. “You knowing that I was okay didn’t do me any good. I had no memory. I. Was. Alone. I honestly didn’t want to be alive, at least not until I spent some time with Peter, but killing myself took more energy than I had at the time.” Stiles’s voice was rough and dragged in places; Peter watched him carefully for signs of an impending seizure._ _

__The sheriff cleared his throat. “Son, sometimes being a parent means making a hard decision that isn’t popular. I didn’t do this to hurt you.”_ _

__Stiles leaned into Peter’s side. “I know. And sometimes being an adult means distancing yourself from people who don’t have your best interests at heart. Even your own family.”_ _

__Stiles’s father looked crushed. He folded an arm over his chest and  
propped his other elbow on it, palm spread over his face. _ _

__“Stiles, please.” Scott was leaning forward. “I love you, bro. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just wanted you alive.”_ _

__“Alive. I suppose you accomplished your objective then. But I want more then just to exist. And that’s my choice. Not yours. After everything that happened with the nogitsune…I just don’t understand how you thought I’d ever be okay with this.” Stiles dragged a broken breath into his lungs and Peter’s heart broke for him._ _

__“Stiles, please—”_ _

__“No, Scott. The only reason I’m talking to you is because of something Peter pointed out, that you did what you did to me because you loved me. I love you but I would never do that to you, either of you. Withhold information from you? Yeah, I’d do that. But I would never exile you. I would never control your memories like that. I can’t be around you right now. You broke my trust. You almost broke me.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m going to stay here with Peter and I’ll contact you when I’m ready. In the mean time I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”_ _

__Scott opened his mouth, sputtering. It was more an indignant squawk than a real response._ _

Stiles’s dad emerged from his behind his hand. “All right, I think that’s the least we can do. But please know I love you very much and I’ll be waiting for you.” The man turned and sought out Peter’s attention. “Thank you, Peter, for taking care of my son when I couldn’t.” 

__Peter easily could’ve argued the man could have taken care of Stiles but chose not to do so. At least Stiles’s father had a choice where Stiles was given none._ _

__Peter held his tongue though. At some point Stiles would forgive his pack and Peter would need to co-exist with them. There was no point causing strife so early in the game, not when he had every intention of staying by Stiles’s side._ _

__Inclining his head with a nod was the only response Peter could give without making things worse so that was what he did._ _

__“Good bye.”_ _

__The words held finality but Peter thought Stiles had given his father and friend hope. It was perhaps more than they deserved but Stiles was magnificent with a capacity for love and forgiveness that left Peter breathless._ _

__Peter disconnected the call. He turned and held his arms out and welcomed Stiles with a tight hug._ _

__He couldn’t help but feel he’d come out the winner even though this wasn’t a competition._ _

__Peter had Stiles and the pack did not._ _

__He vowed to never let Stiles regret his decision. He also vowed to feed the good wolf whenever possible._ _

__Stiles deserved nothing less from him._ _

__

__Finis_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I had finished this fic and felt it was lacking something. Lo and behold someone shared The Two Wolves parable (at work of all places because apparently certain units are notorious for feeding the evil wolf) and it fit seamlessly with the fic, or so I thought, so I incorporated it. 
> 
> I only have three more fics to post for blackout bingo on my Hurt/Comfort card. Thank you for being a part of my journey!


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